


Sapling Switches

by chelonianmobile



Series: Prospit and Derse [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Derse/Prospit Royalty, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Child Abuse, Dehumanization, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Multi, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Slavery, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1246618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelonianmobile/pseuds/chelonianmobile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan is a spoiled little lord and Tavros takes his punishments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Of course things were always so much simpler with my oldest." Dualscar of House Ampora, the Orphaner of Derse, swirled the night-black coffee in his mug and frowned at it as if his problems were the coffee's fault. He surreptitiously unhooked a flask from his belt and slopped a little of the contents into the mug. His host didn't approve of alcohol, but fuck him, Dualscar was the one paying him.

"How so, sir?" asked Darkleer, looking up from the gun on his workbench. The tiny tip of the screwdriver in his hand looked ridiculous attached to the chunky handle, made so to prevent his enormous hands crushing or dropping it. Dualscar knew he had designed it himself, as he did all his tools, and the comical appearance belied their owner's great skill. "Was he more obedient?"

"No, but I had better leverage," Dualscar explained. "Boy's obsessed with his music; if I have to punish him I just have to take his instruments away, or take a cane to his hands. Nah, Eri's a scrapper, I am proud of him but pain doesn't seem to get through to him. And his favourite thing to do is hunt, but I can't very well deny him that. Kid needs all the training he can get." Dualscar noticed Darkleer's slight head-shake of disapproval, but didn't comment.

"Well, sir, I am fortunate. I have never had such problems with my sons."

"Good thing too, you'd have killed the poor little buggers if you tried to smack 'em."

"That is true. When I have had issues with their behaviour a simple explanation of what they did wrong usually suffices."

Dualscar scoffed. "Tried that, it just makes my boys do it again. I can't introduce them at court if I can't get them to behave."

"Well, sir..." Darkleer said, returning to his work. "You did say denying your oldest his music worked. Is there anything else you could use to cause inconvenience or distress rather than pain for your youngest?"

Dualscar sipped his coffee again. "You may be onto something there."


	2. Chapter 2

"So what's your name?"

The bright moonlight lit up the white chalk cliffs of Prospit's coast, the seabreeze cool but not biting. Two little trolls sat on the grass, both wrapped up warmly, though the girl's fine gold-trimmed blue clothing far outclassed the boy's simple brown. Between them, a tiny winged bull chewed joyfully at an apple bigger than its head.

"I-I'm Tavros," the boy said, nibbling at the apple in his own hand. He felt bad about it; he'd just met the girl as she was climbing over the wall of the orchard up the path with her pockets and hat stuffed with the small sharp-tasting fruit, and she had grabbed his hand and pulled him down the path to the little cliffside meadow before she had even looked him in the eye. He had been too surprised to stop her. Apart from the theft, he was sure the apples weren't quite ripe yet, but she'd looked down her nose at him until he took a bite.

"Vriska Serket!" the girl said, pumping his hand hard enough to hurt. "I serve the Light."

Tavros' eyes widened. "No way, I'm Breath!" From under his coat he produced a little polished wooden pendant on a chain, bearing the swirling blue mark. Vriska pulled out her own, a sun made of gold, and the children giggled. Breath and Light were a linked pair within the pantheon, their sacred months occupying opposing points of the year in the human calendar. Breath was spring, welcoming warmth and growing daytime, and Light was autumn, drawing the cold breezes and rains; each contained the other, and their churches worked together often.

"Hey, we've even got the right colours!" Vriska's blue clothing almost matched the Breath sign, and as she cackled he blushed almost the shade of orange traditionally worn by Light's mages and priests. "That's it. We gotta get married."

"What?!"

"Well, not _now,"_ she explained in patronising tones. "Some day. We gotta get ready though. I mean, I'm gonna be four next sweep, that's what, halfway till we can already?"

Tavros nodded nervously. "Which quadrant?" He hoped she wouldn't say black. Blackrom made him nervous, and Vriska made him nervous; the two in conjunction wouldn't be fun.

"Can't be ashen, there's only two of us," said Vriska, and paused, thoughtfully sucking apple skin shreds from between her fangs. "I got a moirail and I think you're a bit wussy for black."

"You, uhh, have a moirail?" Tavros asked, really interested. Three sweeps was surely a bit young to have a steady quadrant. Wow, Vriska was cool.

"Yeah! Her name's Kanaya and her mom went away and mine's always at sea, so it's just us and our lusii and our sisters. And she's jade and she's Space and she's really nice and I think you'll like her..." Vriska paused. "But anyway, that means it's gotta be red." She tossed her apple core away and plunked herself down in his lap. "So hug me!" He did, blushing harder, and she hugged back. It was nice, really; she was softer than his brother and father, and smelled sweeter. She was cold, as highbloods were, and he wanted to warm her up. His bull noticed and headbutted his hand, chirping, and he patted it.

"Oh, look!" He pointed up, and she climbed off him and knelt up to look where he was pointing. "Can you see the cherubs?"

"No way's that a cherub," she said, squinting at the moving patch of darkness in the sky. "That's just a cloud or... no, wait, I see! It is!" She jumped up and down, waving. "Hi, cherubs!"

"Don't do that!" Tavros grabbed her arm. "What if _He_ sees you?"

"Then She'll stop him," Vriska said, pouting. "That's Her job."

Tavros watched the shadow for signs of coming closer. The Queen of Space and the Voice of Time, gods forever bound in combat in the skies of Skaia. He wished Vriska's moirail were here, one who shared the holy aspect of Prospit's guardian.

Vriska tapped her chin. "Think we could find their egg before Derse does?"

"Um, I hope so," said Tavros, still watching.

"No, I mean _us,_ not Prospit! We can find it and be heroes!"

Tavros was unsure about this. "Um, I think we should go home. My dad's gonna be, uhh, wondering, where I am, he told me, and Tinkerbull, to stay, near the orchard wall." The little bull squeaked in agreement.

"And if you listened to your dad you wouldn't have met me, would you?" Vriska put her hands on her hips and shook her mane of hair. "Adventurers don't listen to their dads all the time! And won't he be happy when you bring back a cherub egg and a Marquise's daughter?"

Tavros considered this, and nodded. Surely his dad would come and find him, they weren't that far away from where he'd been told to wait. Vriska's legs weren't much longer than his, she couldn't take him too far away...

"Waaaaiiiit a minute," she said, her mouth twisting in thought. "What's your sigil name?"

"What? Um, it's, uhh, Nitram." He opened his coat to show the horned circle emblazoned on his tunic.

Vriska grabbed his shoulders and whooped. "I knew it! I recognised those horns! Well, now we can really find the egg - you just gotta fly up and ask!"

_"What?!"_

"Everyone knows your dad can fly! Just think happy thoughts and you will too, like in the book, right?"

"No! No, I can't fly, I don't have any wings!" Tavros backed away from the enthusiastic girl, thinking he was still a safe distance from the cliff edge, not knowing how long the overhanging grass was. "My dad can't fly that high anyway!"

"Well, you can beat him! Come on, I wouldn't be friends with you if you weren't awesome enough to fly that high," Vriska said, pouting and shoving Tavros gently in the chest. He wobbled and backed up again. "Are you scared of heights? Come on, you can so do it! Just try! That's what my mom said when she taught me to swim."

"No, I can't!" Tavros pushed back, not budging Vriska at all. Tinkerbull fluttered around her head and pushed at her with his horns, and she batted him away.

"Yes you can!"

"No I can't!"

"Yes, you _can!"_ With that, Vriska shoved him much harder, his back foot slipped on the grass, his arms pinwheeled briefly, and he went over the cliff backwards with a piercing scream, Tinkerbull plummeting over after him. Vriska was still waiting for him to fly up when she heard the horrible crunching sound and the scream cut short. She stopped dead, fear clutching her chest. When she learned to swim, her mother had picked her up and dropped her in a quiet tidal pool, and much splashing and spluttering later she had successfully kept her head above water. Perhaps flying wasn't really like swimming after all.

She peered over the cliff, little hands clinging tightly to the grass. Luckily the cliff wasn't a very high one, but it was more than high enough to break bones. Tavros was lying in a small but spreading pool of brown blood, Tinkerbull nuzzling his face. He tried to push himself up on his arms as she watched. Good, he wasn't dead.

"Stay there, I'll go get help!" she shouted down at him, and ran off back up the path. She never spotted the sail of the little skiff in a hidden bay not far up the beach.

By the time she returned with Tavros' father, the local carapacian doctor, and a number of other curious and helpful passersby, Tavros and Tinkerbull were gone.


	3. Chapter 3

First he was thrown into the skiff, hands roughly bound and a balled-up rag in his mouth, the bellowing Tinkerbull trapped in a cage, then hauled up onto the high deck of a much bigger ship flying the black and purple of Derse, screaming through the gag as his injuries were jarred, more through fear when he realised he felt nothing at all in his shattered legs. Tavros knew that was bad. Adult trolls surrounded him, big rough trolls of various colours, laughing at him. A greenblood woman knelt down, produced scissors from a black leather bag, and started to cut away his bloody breeches with gentleness but no expression of sympathy; she might as well have been cutting cloth for curtains. He whimpered and tried to struggle, and she stopped him with a warning look.

"Waste of time taking this one," said a brownblood with a heavy Dersite accent which Tavros took a moment to decipher. "Even if he doesn't die on us, who'll want him if he can't walk?"

"You'd be surprised," said another, this one a maroon. "Keep him alive, wait a few sweeps, and he won't need his legs." The speaker winked, and the crew cackled at a joke Tavros didn't get. He hugged himself as the greenblood woman started working on him with splints and bandages. Slavers. He'd been warned; slavery had been illegal in Prospit since time out of mind, but not Derse, and many of his favourite plays featured plucky young heroes snatching captives from their grasp. Those plays seemed very far away and very foolish now.

"Bandages cost a few pennies," the greenblood said. "A living wiggler _and_ their lusus, well, if we can get him fixed up so much the better but even if not some foolish highblood'll want a matching set of ornaments and be willing to pay. It's worth a go."

Tavros wanted to say something, anything. Vriska or his father would have spoken up; he wished either of them were here. Tinkerbull battered at the cage door with his horns, but even though Tavros had seen those horns cut through trees the little bull needed to build up speed to get the appropriate force and in the tiny cage he could barely move his wings or legs at all.

The greenblood tugged Tavros' tunic down to cover him, stood up, and nodded. "I've done all I can. Don't move him or you'll waste all my work - we'll have to leave him here and try not to step on him. Don't look at me like that, we'll be rid of him once we land." With that, the crew turned their backs on Tavros and left him flat on his back on the deck, shaking with terror and cold.

Three days passed, and Tavros spent them on the deck, unable to move. The greenblood put together a little shelter from sailcloth and crates to keep him out of the sun and rain. Each midnight one sulky crewmember or another held him in a sitting position and poured gruel and water down his throat, then sloshed a bowl of water over him and mopped up the mess he and Tinkerbull had been forced to make on the deck. He averted his eyes in shame every time this happened, and hoped it was enough to prevent his legs getting infected. He was aware he was lucky; he could hear the sounds of trolls and humans in fear and pain below the decks, far too many crammed in together in the dark. At least here he had fresh air, and he could see his lusus, though he desperately wished he could also hold him, or even talk to him; every time he tried he earned a kick and an order to stop whining. He spent as much time as he could sleeping, trying to regain some strength, despite the nightmares plagueing him.

At dusk on the third day, they reached the other side of the Skaian Channel, and Tavros' fear peaked as he was strapped to a plank and dragged ashore by two shackled and dead-eyed maroonbloods, at least permitted at last to hold Tinkerbull's cage in his arms.

_Derse._


	4. Chapter 4

Perhaps it was Tavros' fear, or perhaps just the wind, but Derse felt much colder than Prospit, the deep blacks and purples of the stones making the buildings look sick and haunted to the eyes of a child raised in Prospit's whites and golds. The local carapacians were black-shelled too, like walking shadows, and the humans milky-skinned from lack of sun under Derse's clouds and mists. All were cloaked in dark shades, ranging from jewel tones to dull greys and browns, and many wore deep hoods. Some were in collars or shackles, eyes cast down, and Tavros shivered, knowing this living death in this ghostly country awaited him. The two maroonbloods carried the plank unsteadily to a huge cart pulled by two brown hoofbeasts - ordinary animals, not showing the stark whiteness and gem-toned eyes of a psychically bound lusus - and dumped him in it.

"Fine thinking, Glauzi, get a troll we can't stand upright!" snapped one of his captors. "If we make 'em stand over him they'll crush him if we bump and I'm not wasting the effort... Right, you hold this one upright!" Tavros' plank was hauled upright and balanced against the side of the cart, the strap under his arms holding him up with the assistance of a frightened human woman, who refused to meet his eyes. Tavros kept a firm hold on Tinkerbull's cage and tried to pat him through the bars as they rattled along, down the pier and onto the cobbled streets.

The cart finally stopped at a great semicircular wooden stage in a bustling market square, onto which the captives were herded, and a brownblood with a cane and megaphone stood a little to one side. A crowd gathered, a huge human male in heavy chains was shoved to the front of the stage, and the sales pitch started. Tavros tried not to listen, and averted his eyes when the man's shirt was torn away by the salesman's claws to show his strength. The woman holding Tavros up stroked his hair, but said nothing. He heard the prices being offered, and was amazed. More money than the Nitrams had ever dreamed of, and the bidders' tones of voice implied these amounts were little to them, an impression backed up by their fine clothing and the jewels many of them wore, and the fact that several of them had at least one slave already in tow. He hoped he'd be bought by one that already had a slave with them. At least he and Tinkerbull wouldn't be lonely.

One by one the captives officially became slaves, until the cart was almost empty. When the woman holding him was taken, Tavros slid down the plank he was bound to until his legs folded awkwardly beneath him. That was worrying. Pain was the body's way of telling him something was wrong, Dad had always said, and there was still no pain but there was plainly something very wrong here...

He was dragged onstage, the plank edge bouncing painfully over the cobbles and up the steps, and propped up in full view of the crowd, his arms aching from clutching Tinkerbull so hard.

"... minor accident, can't stand up yet, but that just means he can't run away!" the salesman announced, prodding Tavros' unresponsive knee and winking at the audience. "And look at this, ladies and gentlemen, his lusus came along, isn't this wonderful? Not often we get a matching set!" Tinkerbull chirped and fluttered, and the salesman laughed. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, you sure won't ever get a pair like this for such a bargain price again - just a little one and damaged too, but don't that make 'em both so pitiful? I know it does to me, I'm going soft in my old age, almost tempted to keep 'em myself, but, ladies and gentlemen, I couldn't deny you such a bargain, so shall we start the bidding?"

Whoops rose from the crowd, and the salesman and buyers exchanged shouted numbers at a speed that left Tavros' head spinning. He watched the bidders, wondering which would win; the dark-haired woman with the red dress and the cruel smile, the hulking carapacian with the chipped facial shell...

A striking seadweller with a hook-horned slave beside him waved a hand and casually called a number half over again what the last bidder had offered, and the salesman brought his cane down on the stage with a _thwack_ in lieu of a more traditional auctioneer's hammer before anyone else could make an offer. Nobody objected, and Tavros shivered again; this man seemed to scare the adults too. "Sold!" cried the salesman, bowing his head as the seadweller's slave unbound Tavros and cradled him in her arms. "And may you find much joy in your purchase, my lord."

The seadweller waved a dismissive hand and turned with a swirl of his cloak, the slave woman hurrying after him with Tavros and Tinkerbull in her arms.


	5. Chapter 5

"Now both of you cock up your hearducts and listen..."

Freshly bathed and dressed in a plain but clean and soft purple tunic and pantaloons, Tavros sat on the hook-horned woman's lap, trying to hold back his shaking. Tinkerbull sat in his lap, a thin chain wound around his horns and tied to Tavros' wrist. Tavros wore a chain himself, around his neck, fastened with the double-wave sigil of House Ampora. The woman stayed silent, but rubbed his hand to comfort him. She was permitted to sit in a chair and her body felt soft and healthy, so maybe she wasn't treated as badly as Tavros had thought slaves were, though her eyes were downcast and her face was drawn.

The chair in question was beside an enormous, ornate desk, behind which sat the buyer, leaning one elbow on the desk and holding a pen in the other hand, which he pointed at the two little boys before him. Both were seadwellers with matching hairstreaks, clearly the lord's sons, smartly turned out and already developing good muscle. One was a sweep or two older, hair slicked back and expression bored, but the one Ampora really seemed to be talking to was Tavros' age, bespectacled and sour-faced, looking down his upturned nose at Tavros.

"Cronus, where are your glasses?" The older boy pouted and pulled a pair of spectacles from his pocket, and at his father's glare put them on. "Good. Now, see the little lowblood here? He belongs to you now. Dola will get him trained, won't you?" The woman - Dola? - nodded. "But he's not just a toy for you, see. Once he's trained up right, Dola, you will be my personal servant and the boy will serve my sons, the kids'll be too old for a nursemaid by then. Now, the main reason I'm doing this, Eri my lad, is your fault."

Eridan's sneer disappeared in a mask of confusion. "Wwhat?" he asked. Tavros noted the funny rippling accent, an exaggerated version of his father's.

"Punishing you in conventional ways doesn't work. From now on, every time you fuck up-" Tavros flinched at the harsh language. "-this one will take any punishment I would have given you."

The little seadwellers cackled. "Wwhy wwould that stop me?" Eridan said, aiming a kick in the direction of Dola's leg. She shifted in time and it connected only with air.

"Because anything he can't do because of his injuries, you will have to do yourself. If I cane his hands he can't use them to clean up your messes. Dola, once the new boy's trained you are forbidden from helping Eridan with anything. It's his choice." Eridan blinked, realised his father was serious, and pouted.

"Howv much use vwill he be anyvway?" the older boy asked, smirking horribly at the thick bandages showing lumpily through Tavros' clothes. "Look at his legs, vwill he evwer evwen be able to use 'em again?"

Horror gripped Tavros' heart and tears gathered on his lashes, but the lord seemed unconcerned. "Leave that to me and your kindly old uncle at Darkleer Robotics. He'll walk and he'll work, and he'll feel as well." He stood up and dug his claws into Tavros' leg; blood trickled through the cloth, but Tavros felt only the faintest of twinges and was unable to move in response. "Not much left to work with, but it's something. Well, aren't you going to thank me, little brownblood?"

Tavros thought. He'd never escape with his legs in this condition; he'd have no choice but to wait at least until after he'd been fixed up. With new legs, he could run. Heck, they really were doing him a favour, his father would never be able to afford that kind of treatment... "Yes..." How should he address him? "M-master?"

"Good boy." Ampora released him and moved away. "What is your name, and what is your aspect?"

"Tavros Nitram, um, master, and I serve the Breath."

The lord smirked. "House Ampora serves Hope. If you seek escape, I would advise you to give up yours, but don't panic. You will be fed and clothed and kept respectable, and you will be treated as well as my boy behaves. He'll learn." He urged Dola to her feet and ushered her to the corridor. "Take him to the slaves' quarters, I need to contact Darkleer. Boys, you're dismissed."

Dola carried Tavros down the gleaming purple stone corridor, taking rapid steps silenced by the plush carpet, head still cast down and her short hair hanging in her eyes. Tavros noticed a Space symbol tattooed between her collarbones. He waited till he was sure they were out of earshot of the lord's office, and spoke. "Uhh, are you okay, ma'am?"

"Dola, please, not 'ma'am'," said the woman softly, green eyes looking down at him. A jadeblood; they were rare, Ampora must have paid ludicrous amounts for her. "And yes, I am well, but I am sad for you. The Orphaner is harsh."

Tavros' heart stopped. The _Orphaner?_ That frightening but ordinary-looking man was the Orphaner, the bogeyman used to frighten Prospit's children into eating their greens, the slayer of seamonsters, the dreadful creature Tavros had been sure did not exist? He stared into Dola's eyes, seeking a lie; she nodded sadly, and Tavros broke down into sobs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a long time! I really want to do more with this 'verse. Suggestions for where to take it would be very welcome!

_Sweeps in the future, but not many - in fact, only two..._

Horuss trudged down the bank of purple grass towards the pond, Equius following him. Time to talk to Cronus. Their respective fathers had been encouraging them to chat more often; they were now nearly seven sweeps old, the time when a young troll should be seriously devoting some time to seeking committed quadrants. Darkleer had sat Horuss down and explained to him in detail all the benefits a legally secure bond between the two Houses could bring, and Horuss had agreed it seemed sensible. To be allied with the Orphaner's blood would be a great honour, and could bring them the close attention of the royal families at last. The money wouldn't hurt either. He had to admit he did not find Cronus Ampora particularly concupiscently attractive, but the two had got along quite well as wrigglers. While they had drifted apart, Horuss heard enough about Cronus through the grapevine to know he'd turned into quite the rebel, dyeing the beautiful streak of his noble blood colour out of his hair and developing a fascination with humans. A STRONG, reliable and obedient moirail would do him a world of good.

Cronus was sprawled in the bottom of a rowboat, letting it drift in lazy circles in the pond, hands occupied with plucking out experimental riffs on a ukelele. He paused in the latter activity to wave. "Heyyy, Zahhaks! C'mon ovwer! Eridan'll be out soon." He resumed playing, and added "Howv d'you like this?" Horuss really didn't, but he nodded in polite approval and sat on the bench, back ramrod-straight and chin high. Equius sat beside him. "You okay, Hor?"

"I'm doing quite well, thank you. Um, sir, I mean no disrespect, but I _have_ pointed out the problems with that nickname numerous times. How do you expect this match to work if you don't listen to me?"

"I am listening! I'm helpin' you be less uptight, see?" Cronus sat up in the boat and paddled it up to beach on the sloping shore, within a reasonable conversational distance, and shook his head in mock sorrow. "You gotta put some effort in too, man. I can't carry the wvhole thing myself, yanno?"

"I shall do my utmost, sir," said Horuss stiffly.

"That's great!" Cronus said, grinning, and turned to the other blueblood. "'Scuse the pale talkin'. Howvsabout you, kiddo? Any quads on the horizon for little Zahhak?"

"No!" Equius sputtered. "Who told you I - who told you there were?"

"Ahaha, that's a yes!" Cronus cackled and slapped his thigh. "Boy's growvin' up, eh? Who?" Equius squeezed his mouth shut - another one of his teeth snapped and flew onto the grass - and folded his arms.

"Equius! Don't be rude. A nobleman asked you a question!"

Equius mumbled "Was it an order?" Horuss raised an eyebrow. Outright defiance from Equius was like water in the desert; not unknown, but always rapidly drying up. Why wouldn't he want to tell... The light was at the right angle for him to glimpse Equius' eyes through his glasses, and Horuss followed his gaze toward the stables. His eye was caught by a dark shape which resolved into the long wavy hair and curly horns of their slavegirl, fetching something from the carriage.

"But the only troll over there is... is..." Horuss grabbed Equius and shook him, crying out "What? No! No, you cannot have feelings for a slave!"

"Horuss, you're hurting me!" 

Horuss loosened his grip, leaving vivid blue marks on his brother's skin, but did not relax. "No! I forbid it and I especially forbid you from letting Father find out! How can you even think of such a thing?"

"How can I not?" Equius sighed, gazing at the slavegirl. "Look at her. Such uncouth blood in such a beautiful vessel. Such a shame. I'm sorry, Horuss."

"Well. Which quadrant?" Horuss asked. Equius blushed and quickly formed his thumbs and fingers into a heart shape. "Well, it's probably just a crush. It'll pass, no harm done. Still, don't tell Father." Cronus leaned on his elbows on the edge of the boat and squinted. Horuss sighed. "Sir, if you really want to see her it would well behoof you to put your glasses on."

Once again, Cronus ignored him. "Izzat a maroon sign I see? Ooh, boy likes a bit a' rough. So what's the problem? Go bang her and get it outta ya system."

Horuss spluttered. "That's even worse! How dare you? Um, sir."

"Uh, I think we both are a bit young for that. I'm not even six sweeps yet."

"That's halfwvay to drone season an' it comes sooner'n you'd think, kid. Get in the practice."

"That's not my only objection!" Horuss stood up, looming over his prospective fiance and brother both. "It is a highblood's duty to remain chaste for their serendipitous quadrants."

"Oh, like hell! Ya sound like my dorky little brother! 'Wveh wveh, savwin' myself for the princess'..." Cronus flapped his fins and fluttered his gills in irritation. "You tellin' me you...?"

Equius interrupted, having hit the next stop in his train of thought. "Do you think she'd say yes?"

"Wvhat does that matter?" Cronus said, frowning. "You order, they do, 'swvhat they're _for._ Dola don't complain." He scowled at Horuss and smugly added "And you wvon't wvhen you see how much better I am in the pile than you."

"Good night," said Horuss firmly, and marched to the house, intending to tell his father he did not _ever_ want to end up in a pile with such a... promiscuous person as Cronus Ampora. Perhaps a blackrom match could be salvaged from this instead, though if it ended up a kismesissitude he would insist on very thorough disease-screening beforehand. Equius scurried after him, glancing at the servants' door where the maroonblood had disappeared.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm totally a PBJ <3 shipper and the whole point of the fic is to end up Tav<>Eri, but Aradia seems to be pushing in with all the insistence of a charging ram. Reckon I should go with polyamory or what?

Aradia Megido, slave of House Zahhak, walked briskly back from the stables to the service entrance with her head down and Darkleer's requested parcel in her arms. Replacement parts for numerous devices, among them a psi-blocking slave collar like the one she wore. She tried not to think about it. One foot in front of the other, accomplish the task, keep head down, and watch for opportunities. She had been captured quite recently, and didn't intend to stay bound long. It was hard, though. The psi-blocking collar had had to be cranked up to maximum power to contain her, and was dulling her thoughts and feelings too. Everything felt hazy, and her anger and fear were slipping through her grasp into a void.

The household slaves' quarters were pretty standard, straw mats and woollen blankets empty right now; she observed one mat stained with thin streaks of dried blood. From a willow switch, she guessed, probably over a relatively minor infraction. She'd seen a few slaves with those cuts. At least the Zahhaks physically couldn't beat her without possibly killing her and preferred not to lose their investment. She sincerely hoped the de-strengthening gloves they'd been working on didn't change that.

On her way out through the kitchens, she heard a thump from inside a broom cupboard, and a plaintive call of "Uhh, hello? Young Master?"

"Huh?" Aradia peered through the keyhole, seeing the indistinct form of another small troll with huge horns. "No, sorry, it's not. Aradia, property of House Zahhak. I serve the Time. Who are you?"

"Tavros, property of House Ampora, I serve the Breath," he rattled off, practised and more smooth than his other speech. "I was, uhh, just wondering, when they were going to let me out. Your walk sounds, um, about the same, as young Master Eridan's, sorry."

"It's okay. Why are you in there?"

"Young Master has been, uhh, slacking off, please don't let him know I told you, so I'm in here, till he finishes his homework, so I can't do my work for him. I hope it's soon. It's been, um, well, I've slept twice." Aradia's view of him was a little more focused now her eye had adjusted to the darkness of the cupboard; he ran a finger around the inside of his collar, the same type as hers, and grimaced. "It's not so bad. I'm out of the Masters' way. Though, I wish I had some water."

"Would you like me to bring some?"

"I, uhh, wouldn't want you to get caught. And, well, how would you get it to me? The door's locked."

"I'll work something out. It's okay. Oh, damn - sorry, I have to leave. I'll be back." She hurried off, hoping she hadn't kept the highbloods waiting.

"Thank you!" Tavros called faintly after her.

She did indeed return shortly afterwards, with a bottle of water and a long reed straw. With some careful fiddling, she was able to work the straw through the gap between the door and the frame, and Tavros caught the end and used it to swallow as much water as he could until the level in the bottle dropped too low to reach.

"Thank you, Aradia, that was, um, that was so much help!" he whispered, wiping his chin; as non-mammals with no inborn sucking reflex, trolls tended to be sloppy drinkers. Luckily his tunic was dry enough that his masters wouldn't think anything was up when they fetched him out. "Um, would you, uhh... next time you're here, would you find me? I should be out by then, ahaha." His teeth glimmered wetly in the light from the keyhole. "I'd like to meet you properly. I, um. I think we, both, need a friend."

Aradia smiled, just a little. "I'd be okay with that."

~

Some hours later, near dawn, the door creaked open, and Tavros blinked in the light to see a grumpy-looking Cronus. "Eri's done, c'mon outta there," he said, and left, leaving Tavros to stumble after him, legs creaking.

Back when he'd first been bought, Tavros had been promptly taken to the personal laboratory of Darkleer Roboti% and left under the supervision of both its owner and a leprechaun who gave his name only as Stitch. Together, the two of them had returned his legs to some semblance of functionality. The leprechaun doctor could not reconnect his spine fully; being thrown and dragged around in his journey had made the damage worse than it had been to start, and healing magics had not progressed far enough to fix such injuries. But he had put Tavros face-down on a table and slit open his back, ignoring the little troll's cries of pain when he opened up the parts above the break, and succeeded in partially rewiring the nerves together. Tavros now had sensation below his waist, albeit badly dulled. His ability to move his legs in a controlled manner had not returned, but that was Darkleer's part to play. The broken bones in his legs had been pinned with metal plates and strung with wires, and a pair of leg-braces had been fitted, to be replaced as he grew. The whole thing was cheaper than building robotic prosthetics from scratch and required fewer powered parts that might break down, using Tavros' own body as a building frame. His gait was awkward, his bowel and bladder control was still a problem, and stairs were a nightmare, but they worked.

While peg-legs would have been infinitely cheaper and simpler, Dualscar had not gone to this trouble because he cared. If he had, he might have told Stitch and Darkleer to use an anaesthetic. He wanted to make sure that, first, Tavros could work; second, he looked suitably pitiful to test Eridan's squeamishness; and third, there was more of his flesh left to hurt. More ways to hurt him, too. When Eridan was particularly troublesome Dualscar would take the leg-braces off entirely and leave Tavros to attempt his work while crawling. He was pretty sure that was defeating the purpose since Eridan and Cronus thought it was hilarious; then again, after the first couple of times they realised it meant they had to put their own clothes and toys away and clean their own ablution traps because Tavros couldn't reach. Most times they didn't think it was worth that. Most.

Eridan had stacked up his schoolfeeding papers neatly on the table in the library, his usual pout firmly in place and deepening when Cronus ruffled his hair. "Hey, chief."

"Hey." Eridan pointed to the books scattered around the table. "These need puttin' awway," he said imperiously, not even glancing at Tavros, who swept them up and started sorting them into order by topic and author.

Cronus sighed melodramatically. "Vwell, seems Zahhak's bein' a bulge about the pale thing. His dad said he'd talk some sense into him, he'll be back. Seems vwe're both havwin' potential quad trouble, huh?"

Eridan kicked his brother's shins and snapped "Fef is not bein' a bulge! She's _busy._ Bein' a princess is hard!"

"She's not the Crown Princess. How busy can she be?"

"Ah, wwho cares. I got a plan." Eridan stamped over to a display cabinet on the wall and pulled out a rifle. "I'm gonna kill evvery damn sun-spawn a' Prospit an' when there's no one to havve a wwar wwith she'll havve plenty a' time to pay attention to me!" He polished the rifle with his sleeve and picked up a news-sheet from a shelf, musing "Hell, says here they'vve been sendin' more scout parties than usual. I can go start now!"

Cronus chuckled. "Hawve fun."

"No!" 

The two seadwellers froze, and turned to Tavros, fins flaring dangerously. The little brownblood shrank under their stares.

"Funny, I must be hearin' things," said Cronus darkly, silkily. "Unless a certain slawve is thinkin' he can talk back. Do vwe hawve to teach him a lesson again?"

"Um, I mean, uhh..." Tavros thought quickly. How best to both avoid pain and stop Eridan from wandering off at dawn? Eridan was prone to idle bragging, but also to getting stupid ideas, and he really might run off alone to pick fights with anyone who looked Prospitian... "Um, well, I just thought, well, I'm a Prospitian, so you'd have to kill me too, and if you do that, who's going to do your laundry tomorrow?"

There was a pause, and then Cronus burst out laughing and thumped Tavros' back. "Ha! He's got ya there, chief. Nice one, tadpole."

"Uhh, it's Tavros."

Cronus' claws sank into his shoulder, drawing blood. Still smiling, he said "Don't push your luck, shitblood." He shoved Tavros forward, and the brownblood caught himself on the table. Sighing as quietly as he could, he picked up the first book and headed to the appropriate shelf. On the way, he took a peek at the news-sheet. The first page bore a woodcut of the Prospitian war leaders, the purpleblooded troll king and the carapacian White King, the troll's youngest son peering out from behind his father's enormous body. The little purpleblood was rather cute, and the club in his hand looked deadly. Tavros sighed again, louder this time, and Cronus heard.

"Hopin' your prince'll come?" he said, shaking his head. "Forget it, kiddo. You'wve always been a shitblood and you're a Dersite nowv."

Wistfully, Tavros finished tidying up. Eridan watched him, silently and curiously.


End file.
